Snitches in Ink
by Pixie Flight 15
Summary: Stuck in a dead-end job as a one of Witch Weekly Magazine's journalists, Rose Granger-Weasley can't seem to find a silver lining as she tries to find work elsewhere. Scorpius Malfoy, on the other hand, is going to be a successful Quidditch player, and maybe win the next Most Charming Smile Award... Well, that's if his face doesn't get rearranged by passing bludgers.
1. Weasley's Witchy Woes

A/N: I don't believe that _The Cursed Child_ exists, so this story is not based in that realm. I do believe, however, in Scorpius and Rose's love for each other. Hence why I'm adding to the ever-growing library of fan-made delight that supports this couple, and all of the antics they might get up to in life.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing from this wonderful world crafted by J.K. Rowling, aside from a few side-characters that may pop up every now and again. You'll know who truly does not belong here, and who does.

Please enjoy.

* * *

 **Weasley's Witchy Woes**

There wasn't a day that passed by where Rose Granger-Weasley wished that her reality was anything but.

Once, she had been a hard-working Hogwarts student, the top of her class with aspirations to go even higher, and a shiny Head Girl badge pinned to her robes to boot. It was expected that she would do well, and everyone she had ever known all but thrust their hopes onto her then 17-year-old shoulders to land a respectable job at the Ministry. Some thought that she would work alongside her mother – imagine! _The_ Hermione Granger, working with her daughter, _The_ Rose Granger-Weasley! – whilst others suggested she become an Auror, instead. There had even been a discussion about Rose applying to train as an Unspeakable once, the paperwork ready and waiting on her mother's mahogany desk the second Rose gave her the go-ahead.

She hadn't done any of those things. Oh, no, Rose had had enough of other people sticking their big noses into her business, by then. So, by the time she had left Hogwarts, Rose Granger-Weasley, star child and the brightest witch of her age, defied all expectations and did the one thing that seemed to rebel against everything anyone had ever wanted her to do.

So, Rose Granger-Weasley became a writer, or, more specifically, a journalist. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course.

No, it was _what_ she wrote and _where_ she published it that was the problem, because Rose was, in fact, the lead interviewer and head columnist for _Witch Weekly_ magazine, a fact her mother tried to rectify daily by owling Ministry job applications to her, no matter whose house she was visiting or what office she was sitting in.

And that's where Rose was now, sat in her dingy little office somewhere in the center of Wizarding London, writing hair-brained articles and tapping out the contents of her latest 'celebrity' interview for the winner of the _Most Charming Smile Award._ It just so happened that this year's winner happened to be related to her, and _no_ , she hadn't rigged it in his favor. There were more deserving pseudo-celebrities with even better smiles than James Potter, but it just so happened that half the Witch population in and out of Hogwarts, as well as two of her ditzy co-workers, fancied the pants off of Rose's obnoxious, older cousin.

Oh, yes. Rose Granger-Weasley's aspirations in writing were _totally_ paying off.

It wasn't like she'd planned on staying around for more than a year, she reminded herself as she sipped on lukewarm coffee. In fact, Rose had once aspired to become an author and have her books sold in shops and stored in the Hogwarts library, helping a new generation come to grips with potions and charms that she'd had her own struggles with. The _Witch Weekly_ stint that had turned into a ten-year career was only meant to last for 12 months on an apprenticeship scheme, but Rose had stayed put, for one reason or another. It had something to do with witches liking her writing style, Malory Dent (Editor-in-chief, notorious busy-body) liking her, and Rose being related to a good chunk of the 'celebrity' eye-candy _Witch Weekly_ targeted almost daily. Oh, and there was also her inability to land herself a job with _The Daily Prophet_ , despite trying at least once a week for the last nine years.

For some reason, not even her Aunt Ginny could secure her a job with the big-name newspaper. There had been something said about 'gossiping tabloids and sullying the name of _The Daily Prophet_ ' once or twice in the letters she received, denying whatever articles she sent their way. _Almost as if they're trying to deny the fact they ever hired Rita Skeeter all those years ago,_ Rose thought to herself with a snort.

And yes, Rose could have used her family connections to land a job at the prestigious newspaper way back when – Godric knew the rest of them had done just that for their specific lines of work – but Rose had refused. She'd wanted to work her way up and bag herself a position as an official writer for _The Daily Prophet_ , dishing out big news that had nothing to do with her family. Yet here she was, stuck in a dingy office, writing for a stupid magazine that had only hired her _because_ of her name alone; the fact that Rose could write damn well was a bonus.

That was Rose Granger-Weasley's life. A talented young writer with some of the best connections around, wasted on a seedy little magazine that focused on who had the best abs in the Chudley Cannons, silly gossip that was hardly ever true, and riding on the backs of her more successful cousins who had already amounted to something, if only for their surnames and good looks.

Yup. Rose was totally living the dream, aged 26. _Not._

* * *

Rose needed a gallon of coffee, _stat_. It hardly mattered that she'd done very little that day – mostly correcting everyone else's spelling mistakes and finishing off her _Most Charming Smile_ feature – but, regardless, she needed the caffeine high. It was the one thing in her life she couldn't screw up.

Chucking her keys into the chipped sugar bowl she kept on her coffee table, Rose shuffled her way towards the small square of kitchen tucked into the corner of her flat, and began to fill her electric kettle with water.

Home was nothing to brag about; the flat was small but cosy. An old, squishy sofa in a faded maroon sat at an angle, facing away from the kitchen, and the round, distressed coffee table sat a foot away from it. Rose had managed to accumulate a few bookshelves over the years, each one stuffed with various books, but there never seemed to be enough shelf space – piles of tomes and volumes were scattered about the living room area, and had even spilled into her bedroom.

Rose would simply argue that there could 'never be enough books', something her mother readily agreed with.

There was also a small balcony area as well, if you could even call it that. Rose could only open the window, stepping onto a ledge with a railing on it for added effect. She didn't bother with potted plants like her neighbours did, mostly because they died in her presence (Herbology had never been her forte), but it did well to serve as her primary post box for all things work related.

And, as Rose waited for her kettle to boil, she heard the light _Tap-tap-tap_ on her window that had become all too familiar. Breathing out the sigh she had tried to keep in, Rose turned and took the two steps to the balcony window, unlatching it so that Malory's gouchy tawny owl, Abacus, into the room. Not wanting the bird to bite her fingers off (it had tried that several times), the young witch handed it a dry bread crust left over from her morning toast. Thankfully, it pacified the greedy beast.

Untying the piece of parchment from the owl's leg swiftly, Rose unfurled the message that contained her up-coming errands. Letters from Malory were a nightly deal, often giving each journalist in the Witch Weekly team a last-minute to-do list for up-coming articles, interviews, features and whatever else she could come up with.

Today, it was a press release and interview pass for an up-coming Quidditch match in the next week or so, with the Montrose Magpies and Puddlemere United playing against one another in a bid to enter the Quidditch League for the year. _Huh, Malory got a good one,_ Rose thought to herself with a small smile. Maybe she was finally going to cover some serious articles, for once?

And then she saw who she would be interviewing, and blanched.

If Rose had had her coffee at that moment – the kettle had conveniently just finished boiling and _clicked_ itself off – then she might have dropped it, or spat it all over the parchment she was holding. If she'd had a mug in hand, Rose might have thrown it at Abacus, but because she wasn't holding anything chuck-able, she just stood there, mouth open in a little _'_ o' shape, making almost no noise as she re-read the print that had her looking like a Dementor waiting to give its deadly kiss.

 _ **REQUEST TO INTERVIEW: Montrose Magpies New Seeker, Scorpius Malfoy, GRANTED.**_

 _Damn it all and back again, she thought to herself. Just drive me into the Whomping Willow one-hundred times over._

* * *

"You're joking. _Right?_ "

It wasn't even 10 in the morning, and Scorpius Malfoy was already pissed off. The day hadn't started off badly, in fact, it was looking up to be quite a good; his usual morning jog had been pleasant, the French roast coffee blend he typically enjoyed was the perfect temperature, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. All in all, Scorpius had felt rather optimistic about the day ahead.

And then the bloody mail arrived.

There had been the usual to sift through; congratulatory letters, practice schedules, broom model subscriptions, as well as a bill or two. All ordinary things to receive, except for the last article in the pile – a flimsy looking magazine, with a scrap of parchment spell-o-taped to the front of it.

 _ **Research material for your first interview. Enjoy!**_

Of course, Scorpius had been curious; when the opportunity for an interview arose just a week ago, he had asked his manager to secure the latest copy after all the approvals had gone through. He didn't want to go in blind, especially if the interview would be for the likes of _Quidditch, Quaffles and Questions_ , or _Broom Biographic._ There were plenty of big-name sports and Quidditch magazines out there in the Wizarding world, and Scorpius Malfoy did not want to look like a tit if they asked a question about the magazine itself.

Well, if the giant coffee stain blooming on his once white shirt was anything to go by, then one could only surmise that the magazine in question wasn't what we had expected.

"You can't be serious, Quincey. _Witch Weekly_ _Magazine_? Even my own mother wouldn't touch this rubbish!" Scorpius had thrown the offending article onto his manager's desk, right after apparating into the Montrose Magpies Manager's office once the initial shock had worn off, and half his French Roast had found itself on his clothes.

Needless to say, Scorpius Malfoy was not a happy bunny.

Actually, the young lad didn't know if he should be horrified or concerned – why would such an upscale Quidditch manager agree to an interview with _Witch Weekly_ , one of the trashiest, least appealing tabloids on the market? Obviously, it had to be an accident, or maybe a moment insanity, bludgers to the brain and White Rat Whisky were involved.

Yeah, that had to be it. _An accident_ , he told himself.

No such luck. "It's good publicity for yer, Malfoy," Hogarth Quincey, the portly but genius manager for Montrose Magpies smiled as he sat behind his desk, a fat cigar between two stubby fingers. " _Witch Weekly_ will put yer on the spectrum, get yer a fan club or two. It's all about fan clubs and followers these days, y'know."

Scorpius grimaced at that, and he really didn't want to agree, but he knew that his manager had only the best intentions. Quincey would never do anything that could potentially harm his players, especially up-and-comings like Scorpius. He was too good a bloke, and far too great a manager for dodgy tactics like that.

But, still… _Witch Weekly Magazine_ , of all things?

"Yer still new, Malfoy." The older man said, as if answering Scorpius' thoughts. "There'll be time for other interviews with bigger, more impressive magazines, but fer now, _Witch Weekly_ is as good as yer'll get. B'sides," Quincey sat back in his chair, looking to the ceiling as he took a long, thoughtful drag on his cigar, before breathing out and continuing, "those _Witch Weekly_ lasses are a talented bunch. They can spin yer a tale or two for the sake o' earnings, but they can write a damn good interview, too."

Quincey sat up straight again, saw the look of disgust on his newest players face, and gave him a small, understanding smile. Leaning over, Scorpius' manager nudged the unsightly article towards him with his pudgy hand, and nodded towards it. "Read up, Malfoy, and see if yer'll do the interview. I want yer answer by tomorrow."

Quincey didn't leave Scorpius with much else to say, and so, with a bitter taste in his mouth and no way to get himself out of this mess (aside from a Malfoy Tantrum, but he was a little too old for that, now), Scorpius Malfoy snatched up the crumpled magazine, and apparated himself away from the office, back home.

 _Shittin' Slytherins_ , what was he going to do? Quincey was right, of course – Scorpius was a new player to the Montrose Magpies, and the tabloids wouldn't want to interview him until he'd played a few games, or made a spectacular show of himself in his first ever big-league match. Only the little tabloids – oh, and trash like _Witch Weekly_ – would want to talk to him before he even had a chance to prove his worth.

But, really? _Witch Weekly Magazine_? This was the kind of press Scorpius had wanted to avoid from day one. Dodgy writers and ditzy, giggling journalists were not exactly appealing, especially when they would probably ask about his abs or how he styled his hair, the things that only a teenage witch would enjoy. Annoyed, he threw the tabloid onto the coffee table, and set about making himself a new cup of coffee. He needed it.

Scorpius Malfoy was a serious Quidditch player, no matter how new he was to the big leagues, and he really did not want the beginnings of his career blemished by the likes of gossipy, girly rubbish. Nope. No way.

At 26, nearly 27, Scorpius Malfoy was looking for a serious career as a professional Quidditch player. After graduating Hogwarts at 17, he travelled around Europe and Asia before settling in Poland a few years later, and became a bench reserve for the Grodzisk Goblins' then-Seeker, Kristoff Przybylski. Scorpius couldn't say _why_ he had gone to Poland, exactly, but he had enjoyed the experience, none-the-less, and training with the team and playing a few matches helped to build his experience, and learn new techniques that he hadn't known when playing the sport in Hogwarts.

Even though Scorpius had played for the Grodzisk Goblins a handful of times – typically because Przybylski had a knack for getting splinched whenever he decided to apparate – it was one of those rare opportunities that had caught the eye of Hogarth Quincey, his current manager. Quincey, his wife and son were all fans of the Goblins, and often travelled to Poland to watch a few matches before the European cup took place, and it was there that Scorpius was scouted.

Quincey didn't make any promises that he would make Scorpius his new Seeker right away, but he had been impressed, and offered a position as a reserve on the Magpies' team if Scorpius wished to have it. It was a bit of a whirlwind decision, much like his plans to uproot to Poland after he had graduated Hogwarts, but after a day of thinking of it over, Scorpius had resigned from the Goblins, and moved back to England within the week, after living in Poland for almost five years.

To say his parents were delighted was an understatement. His mother was absolutely beside herself with joy, and often travelled to Edinburgh to visit her only son, regardless of his availability. His father was a little more reserved in his excitement, but Scorpius knew that his father was quietly pleased.

It had been a little more than a year ago when that happened, and now Scorpius was the new Seeker for the Magpies. There was no denying his addition was a swift one – it typically took a few years for a reserve to make it on the team – but after training with Goblins and waiting so long to have his big break, Scorpius was pleased with the turn of events. Now, he was just waiting for his first match, which was only a week away.

 _Oh, and now the Witch Weekly interview. Just my luck_ , he thought to himself. Okay, so he didn't have to do it – Quincey wasn't forcing him to do anything – but Scorpius knew that a little bit of publicity before his career took off, wouldn't be the worst thing. In fact, it would give him a little bit of a boost, but, _urgh_. _Witch Weekly_? Only the Cannons were desperate enough to put themselves through _that_ kind of publicity.

Coffee brewed (at the perfect temperature, of course), Scorpius eyed the thin magazine from where he stood in his apartments kitchen, lying on the coffee table as if it belonged there. It looked odd, seeing the gossipy piece in his home, but hopefully, he wouldn't have to look at it for too long; he just had to flip through it, determine that none of those writers _Witch Weekly_ hired were worth his time, and owl his decline to Quincey. Simple.

Letting out a groan, Scorpius rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, mussing it up until it fell over his eyes. _Need a haircut_ , he reminded himself, before striding over to his sofa – black leather, of course – and popped his large mug down onto the polished oak table, and picked up the magazine that was causing him so much misery.

Well, flipping through it determined a few things; _Witch Weekly_ really was full of rubbish. _WonderWitch Wishlist_ was a few pages full of obnoxiously pink products and beauty regimes, featuring a few young witches demonstrating how to apply or use various products from the popular line. _Amazing Abs – Chudley Cannons Special_ was a barrage of orange background and black font, as well as a few awkward images depicting various Chudley Cannons players lifting their shirts, winking and smiling up at Malfoy as he looked down at the magazine with disgust.

There was a lot more thrown into such a small print – gossiping articles about who was sleeping with who, which Witch had broken _that_ Wizards heart, music reviews and which band young witches should be pining over, and what lead singer is the dishiest of the lot.

Basically, it was a vapid, low-brow piece of trash, something Scorpius had known from the beginning.

Ready to throw _Witch Weekly_ out the window – it didn't deserve to sit in his bin – Scorpius flipped to the weekly interviews page, and stopped, his interest spiking as he stared down at the only page that had caught his attention, and kept it. It read:

 _ **The Most Charming Smile Award: Exclusive Interview with JAMES POTTER!**_

But it wasn't the lack of alliteration in the title, or even the article itself that had intrigued Scorpius Malfoy. In fact, it was the name tacked underneath it, bold and curved in a fancy script that was unmistakably the interviewers own handwriting.

 _ **Interview, Article and Editing by ROSE GRANGER-WEASLEY**_ **.**

And for the first time since receiving the rubbish magazine in his mail, Scorpius Malfoy grinned. _Well, well, well_ he mused to himself, _this just got interesting_.

Maybe he would take the interview, after all.


	2. Malfoy's Marvelous Mug

**Mug:** A term coined in place of the word 'face'. There are many meanings to the term 'mug', whether it be 'to mug someone', 'a gullible person', 'oi, mate, that's my coffee mug' or even 'a criminal'. Here, however, the title 'Malfoy's Marvelous Mug' basically means 'Malfoy's Marvelous Face'. But, that doesn't have quite the same ring, nor is it giving me a chance to use alliteration in my title. So, mug of the facial kind, it is!

 **A/N:** I have a vague idea of what direction this story will go in. So far, I'm having fun with it; I like this Rose. She's different to the girl who holds a grudge against Ravenclaw that I crafted for _Essence of Amortentia_. I enjoy her bitterness towards her own life. But, she takes a different direction here, in terms of how she acts. Then again, she meets an old friend, of sorts, so of course she's going to change her tune a little.

Hopefully, it's a tune she whistles throughout. We shall see... Muahahaha!

 **Disclaimer:** Though I did write this after The Cursed Child made its appearance, I still like to believe that book / script does not exist. I have not read it. I don't particularly like the idea of it, therefore, what I am writing is in line with the seven Harry Potter books written by the fabulous J.K. Rowling herself I own nothing within this world - some names, I might - so anything you recognise and understand to be from the magical delight that is the world of Harry Potter, is not mine. The story is just something I have conjured, from all the overwhelming love I have for this series, and the magic it has brought to our lives. Thank you.

Enjoy, if you will.

* * *

 **Malfoy's Marvelous Mug**

No amount of coffee could calm Rose Granger-Weasley down, but the amount she had drank – more than five cups, probably – had made her jittery and on-edge. But that was only because she would have to interview Scorpius Malfoy, brand new Seeker to the Montrose Magpies, and that was something she would never be prepared for.

The week before, just a day after receiving the letter that marked her latest quest for doom, Rose had all but barged into Malory Dent's office, insisting to the best of her abilities that, "honestly, Malory, Figgs would be better suited to it," only to be told that, no, _she_ had to do it.

"The paperwork has already been done, Rose. Besides, Mr. Quincey asked for you specifically, and I cannot risk losing this interview simply because you 'don't feel like it'." Those were Malory's exact words, and yes, it had made feel queasy once she heard them. Damn Malory, and damn her way of reasoning. Couldn't she understand what was at stake, here?

"This is a great opportunity for you, Rose." Malory said. _Oh, yes. So is running into the Forbidden Forest and having a rendezvous with Aragog's offspring_ , Rose had thought sourly. She didn't even try to hide her displeasure, but she was sure Malory was choosing to ignore the look on her head interviewer's face. "This is our chance to introduce a new face into the world of Quidditch, and to the young witches within society. Please do consider yourself blessed, my dear."

Rose was anything but blessed, and no matter how she had tried to angle her fight – "Malory, _please_ , I crashed my broom…" "You don't have a broom, Rose." – Malory simply ignored her pleas, and sent Rose to edit away the other writers' errors for the up-coming issue of _Witch Weekly_.

Rose had been in a terrible mood all week because of it, but today, the day of the dreaded interview, she was all jumbled and nervous. Her tip of a bedroom was even worse than usual, clothes sprawled on the floor, over her dresser, pouring out of drawers and flung on top of her bed. Books were kicked about the room, pieces of parchment littered all surfaces available, and Rose herself sat amongst the mess, mugs of coffee littered around her, as if she were summoning a demon that could save her from this blasted interview.

It had been almost nine years since she had last seen Scorpius Malfoy, and honestly, Rose couldn't pin-point _why_ she didn't want to see him again. They had been in the same year at Hogwarts, and though the two hadn't exactly been buddy-buddy throughout their time together in school, they had an amicable relationship, at the very least. Her cousin, Albus, was best friends with them both, and despite being in different houses – Rose in Gryffindor, Scorpius in Slytherin – they never shared a rivalry, even when they went head-to-head as the top two students in their year.

They had even ended their time at Hogwarts on good terms, wishing one another luck for the future, even sharing an awkward hug, all before departing Platform 9 ¾ without looking back. They hadn't spoken since then, so, _why_ was she nervous? It wasn't like there was any animosity between them that should make her act so weird.

Maybe it was because she knew him? Yeah, that was it. It was a known fact among her peers that Rose didn't like interviewing the people she knew or had known, for the simple fact she didn't want to be labelled as 'biased', for whatever reason. It was already bad enough that she had to interview her family members, but by now, Rose was used to it; the Potter and Weasley clan were too well known, and too beloved to ignore, even for her. And, as head interviewer and editor for _Witch Weekly_ , those would be the kind of articles that Rose would tackle head-on, regardless of her own feelings.

Feelings she would need to get over, in order to interview Scorpius Malfoy successfully. She really couldn't afford to let Malory down, or the Montrose Magpies. This article would probably increase sales for _Witch Weekly_ , and at the same time give Rose's writing a boost. Well, she hoped for that, at least.

With a hefty sigh, Rose looked around her bedroom, the chaos of her mind evident in her wake to find something decent to wear for the match and interview. It was only a few hours away, after all, and whilst she knew that a muddy, sweaty Quidditch player wouldn't care how she looked, _she_ cared.

It would all be over soon, she told herself, and with that thought in mind, Rose found whatever she had been looking for, muttered a quick spell to get rid of any creases in her choice of outfit, and changed before heading out of her messy room so that she could go to her kitchen, and make herself yet another coffee.

Honestly, she needed it.

* * *

If there was one thing that Scorpius Malfoy didn't feel, it was nervous. It was a trait of his that he liked having, because despite it being the day of the match – actually, he'd already had the match – all he felt was excitement and optimism. Some might say he was being arrogant, but he liked to argue that he was, simply put, confident.

His confidence was well spent, too, as the first Quidditch match of the season had gone smoothly. After just three hours of play, Scorpius had caught the snitch and earned the Montrose Magpies a lead in the up-coming finals. There was still a way to go until the finals, of course, but it felt good seeing Puddlemere with 165 points to the Magpies' 320.

The crowd had been pretty amazing, too – the stadium was filled with fans of both teams, one side repping the navy-blue colours of Puddlemere United, and the other half wearing black and white for the Magpies. It felt surreal, actually – Scorpius hadn't expected to feel so elated to see a bunch of strangers wearing the colours of _his_ team and supporting them with such force.

So, there he was, a disheveled, sweaty mess of delight and excitement. His team mates congratulated him on his slick catch, and his new captain, Desiree Collins, let him know what to improve on, and everything that he should continue doing. Overall, it had been a great experience, and the first of many.

Now, it was time for the interview. Scorpius had been told to sit and wait in the cloakroom, the glamorous setting of choice for his very first interview with a magazine. _You would think the Quidditch pitch would be more poetic_ , he thought to himself, hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes as he tapped a foot against the linoleum floor, waiting. Wondering.

Since he had owled Quincey his answer, he had made it known that – no matter what – he would only do the interview if Rose Granger-Weasley conducted it. Why he decided to bargain with that, he couldn't say. He just did. Maybe it was because he knew the girl already and could feel a tad more comfortable around her, or maybe it was out of curiosity. After all, he was intrigued as to why one of the Golden Trio's offspring was working with such a trashy tabloid. There was no limit to what she could have done.

Rose Weasley had always been intelligent. She was the only other kid in their year – in all of Hogwarts – that could match his smarts, and Scorpius knew for a fact that her brains were still in full working order, these days. And yet, she had settled for _Witch Weekly_ , a magazine that was so beneath her, it baffled even him.

Of course, he understood why _Witch Weekly_ would have wanted Rose Granger-Weasley for themselves – she was incredibly talented (despite the dumbed down appeal she applied), as well as their best writer, by far. What he didn't understand was _why_ she stayed with them. It was clear that she had the makings of a great writer, and it was quite a pity that she was selling herself short with trash and girlish gossip.

Of course, Scorpius was also interested in seeing how the girl had changed, nearly nine years later. They hadn't seen each other, not since they'd graduated Hogwarts and he went off travelling. Even when he'd returned to England for family visits and to attended some of the Weasley-Potter shindigs they held about fifty times a year – anniversaries, Christmases, Birthdays and all that sodding stuff – Rose had been absent. "It's just work, dear," Hermione Granger would mutter every time, disgust plastered on her face any time she had to mention Rose and 'work', together. Now, Scorpius understood why. Hermione Granger _hated_ that her daughter was working for _Witch Weekly_.

This very disdain the writers mother held, also explained why Hermione practically threw half-brandies down her throat whenever the topic of her daughter's work life came up. _Interesting…_

It was the sound of footsteps against the linoleum that broke Scorpius away from his thoughts, followed by light mutterings that sounded vaguely like rehearsed questions. Ah, she was here. The famous Rose Granger-Weasley.

* * *

The match had been wonderful to see. Because of her workload, Rose barely had time to watch the sport any more, often opting to read the overview snippet that appeared in the paper whenever a match had happened. It didn't have the same impact, but she made do with it.

Of course, seeing the real deal after so many years was a lot more exhilarating than she had expected. During the entire thing, she had been taking notes and managed to capture a few images, in case her article needed them. Malory would probably tell her she was doing too much – after all, the feature for the up-coming week would be all about Scorpius Malfoy, not the match he played – but Rose liked to be prepared. _Just in case._

Thankfully, it was the match itself that had relaxed Rose as she sat there, mentally preparing herself to meet Scorpius Malfoy. There was nothing to be worried about, really – she was just being _silly_ – but the moment the players had come out, showing off on their broomsticks and making sure to wink towards their respective fans, all the jitters and nerves seemed to melt away. Quidditch, for some reason, had a way of keeping Rose at ease.

It was when the match had ended that left her feeling nervous all over again. The second Rose stood up to go to her destined interview location – the cloakroom, of all places. How _lovely_ – all those pesky feelings came rushing back, and her legs turned to jelly. _Good Godric_ , you would think someone had jinxed her. Gritting her teeth and forcing herself forwards, Rose left the stands in good time, narrowly dodging a hoard of raucous young Magpie supporters, and ran off towards the cloakrooms, flashing her press pass wherever it was needed.

The tunnel that connected with the cloakroom itself was dark upon entering, smelling of sweat and must. It wasn't a great location for an interview, she thought to herself, but it would do for now. If it had been up to Rose, though, the pitch would have been a much nicer choice, but as it was Malory who had arranged it, comfort and setting had never been key; all Malory wanted was the target, and her desired interview on her desk before the next issue went to press.

Muttering low under her breath as she made her way towards the cloakroom, Rose went through all of the questions she had memorized for this interview, flipping through a small, moleskine notebook every now and again to remind herself of any details she had forgotten. And, being so lost in thought, Rose had forgotten to look where she was going.

So of course, she slammed into something tall and solid, because why the heck not? Maybe it was the Whomping Willow, finally come to claim her life and take her away from the mess she had created oh so long ago. _Ah, peace is within my grasp_ she told herself, sarcastically.

It wasn't the Whomping Willow, however, because after stumbling back from the force of whatever Rose had collided with, two hands shot out to grab her shoulders and steady her, before she made a right tit out of herself and fell on her arse. So, maybe _not_ the Whomping Willow – it had never once been courteous to Rose in her life, even when she tried to give it a piece of marmalade toast for Valentine's Day – but it was definitely living, and certainly mobile.

And then whatever she had walked into, spoke.

"You should watch where you walk, Granger-Weasley. Wouldn't want to frazzle that hair of yours, would we?" The tone was low and pleasant, a little husky, as well, and Rose felt herself shiver at the attractive way they enunciated their words, and more specifically, her surname. Whoever she had run into, they knew her, and – for some reason – their hands were still resting firmly on her shoulders.

Trying to still the latest wave of jitters that had over taken her, Rose started to lift her head to look up at whoever she'd managed to bump into, and found herself level with a set of black and white Quidditch robes, a small magpie emblem sewn onto the front. Looking up further, Rose cursed her mother's genes – she was short, at least compared to this lamp post bloke – and then stopped, eyes wide when her gaze met that of Scorpius Malfoy's.

 _Holy Hufflepuff's,_ she thought, averting her eyes to his chest again. One thing was for certain; it wasn't just her hair that was going to be frazzled. _Just my luck._

* * *

Aside from the whole walking-into-him ordeal, Scorpius Malfoy found that Rose Granger-Weasley was very serious about her job. After a good moment of stuttering, a whole two minutes of the infamous Weasley-blush taking over the entirety of her face and neck, and some garbled apologies, Rose quickly ushered him towards a bench, and got to work.

"How has your time with the Grozisk Goblins helped in your technique as a Seeker, and how has the Montrose Magpies furthered it?" Was one of the first questions she had asked, and it had surprised Scorpius, of course. He hadn't expected the young witch to know where he had been, or which team he had reserved for – and then he reminded himself that, this was Rose Granger-Weasley, a girl who _always_ did her research.

Scorpius answered all of the questions she threw at him with ease, absently noting that she used a Self-Writing Quill for most of her notes, and a little contraption he could only guess was a muggle device. "It's a recorder, it won't harm you," she had told him when she'd retrieved the small, rectangular lump of plastic from her handbag, and even though he didn't know what it was for, exactly, Scorpius paid it no mind, because his attention was very firmly on the interviewer, herself.

Rose all but bumping into him hadn't been much of a surprise, only because it was Rose; she'd had a habit of wandering in a daze even in Hogwarts. No, it was the fact that _this_ was Rose that he was talking to, and honestly, he couldn't quite believe his eyes. Him staring at her for long periods of time, well, that was the indicator that he was making sure it was all real.

If it wasn't for the hair, Scorpius could have easily mistaken her for someone else. But, because Rose Granger-Weasley had inherited the fiery red mane and sprinkle of freckles from her father, and the bushy, frizzy mess of her mother, it wasn't hard to figure out who she was once they'd collided. But, everything else… well, that had changed, and Scorpius couldn't deny it – Rose was a woman now.

Wearing what he could only describe as a knee-length summer dress dyed Slytherin-green (she would have looked good in his house robes, actually) and a denim jacket thrown over her shoulders, Rose looked modest and casual, something he hadn't expected. She'd been so prim and proper in school, her uniform ever-presentable, not a thread out of place. But she had also been stick thin, which, combined with her height, would have made her the perfect Seeker for Gryffindor, back in the day.

Nine years had done her good, though. Rose was a lot softer than she'd been in school, and though she wasn't big by any means, Scorpius had noticed that she'd filled out. It was bound to happen, at some point; Rose was a Weasley by nature, and Weasley's liked to eat. Plus, her grandmother's cooking was heavenly, and it would have been a sin if Rose didn't enjoy it like everyone else did.

And that's when it hit him. Just as Rose was asking about "how you feel regarding your future with the Montrose Magpies," the thought occurred to Scorpius that, just maybe, he was finding Rose Granger-Weasley attractive.

 _Not maybe_ , he thought to himself, and held back his smile as he watched the young witch direct her self-writing quill, then press a few small buttons on her lump of muggle plastic. _Definitely attractive_.

* * *

Rose sighed, flipping her notebook shut and finally – _finally_ – chancing a glance at Scorpius Malfoy. He had answered every question she'd thrown at him, not once pausing to ask if he could skip a specific topic, or if he could avoid a question altogether. Instead, he was pleasant, informative, and honest.

"Would it be fine to take a few pictures of you, out on the Quidditch pitch?" Rose asked him, knowing well that Malory would be beside herself if Rose managed to secure a few photographs of the young Seeker. At this question, Scorpius quirked a fine eyebrow, and a smirk formed on his lips.

 _Good Godric, please don't ask if…_

"Should I take my robes off for the _Amazing Abs_ special? I have a certain pose in mind that I've been _dying_ to try."

 _Shit_. Rose went about ten shades of Weasley-red, her ears burning at the suggestion the young Malfoy had proposed. _He's seen the magazine_ , she thought to herself glumly. _Of course, he had to see the abs special. Urgh, just my luck!_

Rose found herself standing up a bit too quickly, and she stumbled but steadied herself before she could fall. "Th-that won't be necessary," she squeaked, clutching her handbag tight as she took a few steps back from Malfoy and his smirking, stupid face. _The twat's done it on purpose!_

Feeling far too warm, and very much embarrassed by Malfoy's suggestion, Rose found herself rushing out of the cloakroom, not bothering to wait for her interviewee as she stalked through the tunnel and out into the beautiful outdoors, finding herself on the empty Quidditch pitch where the game had happened not too long ago.

It didn't take long for Malfoy to make his appearance, and thankfully, by the time he made his presence known, Rose's face had returned to its usual, pale colouring. Why she was blushing all over the place like a tomato, she didn't know – maybe it was something to do with her jittery nerves, and Malfoy's damn presence.

Scratch that, she _did_ know, because the moment Rose had set eyes on Scorpius Malfoy, all her nerves regarding the interview and meeting him again had flown away on a broomstick. Instead, a swarm of something else invaded her, jumbling up every bit of confidence the young journalist had, all because Scorpius Bloody Malfoy was attractive.

Rose bit her lip subconsciously, annoyed by her own, betraying thoughts. Of course, there was no point in denying it; Scorpius Malfoy _was_ attractive, more-so than he had been at Hogwarts. It was very clear that he looked after himself – even under all those robes, she could tell he was athletic – and if he didn't take care of his build or appearence, then he wouldn't have made a very good, or even a very popular, Quidditch player. His silver-blonde hair, all tussled and windswept from flying on a broomstick, fell over his steel-grey eyes in the most perfect way. His face was sharp – it always had been – but unlike the smooth features she had been accustomed to in Hogwarts, the young Seeker was now sporting some stubble and scruff.

 _You'd look good with a five o'clock shadow, Malfoy,_ she mused to herself, before mentally slapping whatever part of her brain had dared to think that traitorous thought. _Urgh, interview, Rose. Keep this clean!_

But, he looked good, Rose thought. _No shame in finding someone else attractive_ , she told herself, and her thoughts began to wander again as she directed the Seeker where to stand, taking various shots of him with or without his broom, flying in the air, doing various tricks and whatever else would look good for the camera.

At one point, the sodding bugger winked. He _winked_ , and Rose almost dropped the camera. Thankfully, she saved herself the embarrassment, but there was no denying that he was having some fun with this. Well, at least his pictures would please Malory, and a whole hoard of hormonal, witchy teens.

Finally, after a few more photographs and a satisfied sigh, Rose waved the young man down, and gave him a small, tired smile.

"Thank you very much, Malfoy," she said sincerely, before producing a small, rectangle business card from her jackets pocket. "It was a pleasure meeting you today, and watching your first match of the season. I hope we can do business again some time." _And please, rearrange your face so I don't have to rearrange_ my _nerves again._

Malfoy took the card from her, but he did so with a funny look on his face, as if he were thinking. Then, "Formalities, Granger-Weasley? Really?" Rose blinked, not fully understanding what he meant, and watched as he tucked her card into the pocket of his robes. "Just call me Scorpius. It's not like we're strangers, anyway."

"Erm… okay?" Was all she managed, her nerves deciding to make their return. _Yep, definitely rearrange your face, Malfoy. Maybe in the next match?_ Then, he smiled, and Rose felt her cheeks getting warm all over again.

 _Buggering Boggarts, why are you so gorgeous?_

"I'll see you around, _Rosie_ ," He grinned, a twinkle in his eye that had Rose thinking he could hear her thoughts. _Good Godric, he better not_ , and before she could give him an intelligent answer back, the twit gave her a pat on the head, turned around, and headed back towards the tunnel they had come from, disappearing into the inky darkness as his robes whirled behind him.

 _In the name of Godric's Hollow_ , she thought to herselfwith a feeling akin to dread and delight, an odd mixture if ever there was one, _please let this be the last I see of him._

Of course, fate really didn't care for Rose Granger-Weasley's opinion, at this point.


	3. Hello, Headliner Heiny

**Heiny:** Butt. This term means butt.

 **A/N:** It's been a hot minute since I last posted a chapter (ie: last month, almost) and now that I've sorted some of my life out (wait for that to get out of hand again), it's time to go back to the fanfiction! I have an idea of where there story is going, but, it might change in the long run. So far, so good, though! I am enjoying both characters, but I do need to add in more than these two... Honestly, though, I'm terrible with writing more than two characters into a scene. Let's pray I get a few more people in, later on, and can have giant conversations.

Or, not. Who knows?

 **Disclaimer:** The Cursed Child does not exist, and in this world, I follow the sound of the cannon that is the original books. Of course, I will take leverage; it's a Next Gen fanfic. I do not, however, own the lead characters, or any others within this wide world of Harry Potter joy that have appeared in previous books. I only own the idea of the story itself, my own words, and any random characters that may pop up now and again.

All rights belong to the glorious J.K. Rowling. She has created perfection, and we can all enjoy it on here, as well as in other places!

* * *

 **Hello, Headliner Heiny**

 _ **EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH THE MONTROSE MAGPIES' OWN SCORPIUS MALFOY!**_

 _ **Returning to England after almost 8 years abroad, Scorpius Malfoy – son to Astoria and Draco Malfoy – a former reserve for the Drozisk Goblins (Poland), is now making his debut in the professional Quidditch circuit as The Montrose Magpies very own Seeker, a position he takes great pride in.  
After a three-hour long match – won after Scorpius' swift snitch snatch – Head Interviewer of Witch Weekly Magazine, Rose Weasley, sat down with the inspirational player, and got to know the Seeker, the dreamer, and the man behind the Magpie…**_

Rose almost gagged at her own writing – the alliteration killed her, yet Malory _insisted_ it had to be done – but, this was how _Witch Weekly_ operated. Cheesy, quick and a damn easy read, if ever there was one. It wasn't that their readers were stupid, but the material they spun certainly wasn't written in the same vein as _Prophet_ articles, either. It pandered to its readers a little too much, and there really was no denying that _Witch Weekly_ was low-quality.

Well, at least it was over and done with, Rose thought to herself. The magazine had only been out a day, and already, witches and wizards - the young, the old and all those in-between - were picking up the crappy tabloid like they were the latest make of broom. For some reason, everyone was going _nuts_ over Scorpius Malfoy, and Rose could only wonder why.

Okay, she didn't need to wonder; Rose knew why people were crazy about him. First, he was good looking – she'd already had the pleasure of _that_ experience when they'd conducted the interview – and second, he was a damn good Quidditch player. The bloke had talent, and so long as he stuck with the Montrose Magpies, that talent would blossom into something greater.

Sighing, Rose grabbed the fresh mug of coffee she had brewed from the counter top, and made her way over to the squishy maroon sofa she adored so much. Sitting in the middle – her favourite spot – she eyed the glossy copy of _Witch Weekly Magazine_ that Malory had given her once the batch of issues came through. Scorpius Malfoy was on the front, winking at whatever witch spied the cover. _Of course, Malory just had to choose that one…_

To say that Malory Dent had been satisfied, would have to be an understatement. The moment the interview hit her desk – pictures and all – she had all but leapt upon Rose, and forced her into a hug. It was the most surreal moment, Rose recalled, but she couldn't complain – Malory had given her a few days off, a rare treat that very few of the writers were given. Typically, Rose would work through the week, meeting deadlines and editing any mistakes the others might have made, before proofing any out-going copies of up-coming issues. Small, trivial tasks, but demanding all the same.

Taking a sip of her coffee – a good temperature, she hadn't over-boiled the water today – Rose pushed the magazine and a winking Scorpius away, and picked up the sheets of parchment that had lain beneath it, reading through the curved scripture, sipping from her mug every now and again.

… _**The tactful dive had fans from both Puddlemere and Montrose watching with anticipation, a few riddled with fear as cries of encouragement and gasps of surprise erupted in the stalls. On the edge of their seats, onlookers witnessed the sheer determination of The Montrose Magpies Seeker, Scorpius Malfoy, as he plunged towards the pitch, passing a befuddled Montgomery Trevors in a bid to catch the evasive snitch.  
The skilled young Magpies Seeker made a sharp turn before the nose of his broom could touch the grasses blade, sweeping up into the air and curving around the pitches border, barely grazing the flurry of Quidditch fans' hands. With Trevors hot on his tail, Malfoy made one last sweep upwards, towards the Puddlemere goalkeeper, and caught the snitch, just as it had floated between the Keepers' eyes…**_

The Quidditch report was something Malory had never been interested in, a fact that Rose had known from the beginning. She hadn't even mentioned the finished script to Malory, though she had hinted her interest in adding one – pictures included – but the older woman had refused. "We're no sports tabloid, Rose," she'd replied, clicking her tongue, and Rose knew that that was the end of that.

Still, she had felt the need to write out the report, a play-by-play of the entire match. It was amazing just how invigorating and inspiring the game had been, and how easily the words came to her. It felt so much better than writing the drivel she had to put up with for _Witch Weekly_. It also felt like, for once, Rose was being honest with herself.

Re-reading the article, Rose realised that she never actually told Scorpius himself that she had been impressed by his catching of the snitch. Of course, the whole game had been impressive, but there was no denying that Scorpius Malfoy was something else. Still, it seemed rather rude of her, now that she thought about it. She should have said _something_ , even if it was just a "congratulations, your team won the match", or something to that effect. But, no, she'd gone right into interview mode, because that was how she operated.

 _Still_ , she found herself thinking, _it would have been nice to let him know._

* * *

Scorpius had to stop himself from falling over from laughter, and contain himself before people started looking at him like he was some form of crazy, but honestly, he just couldn't. It was almost impossible, because this drivel in his hands was _priceless_.

… _**Scorpius' Swift Snitch Snatch left fans of both Puddlemere and Montrose in awe, and with a confident, charming grin, the fortunate young Seeker lifted the flittering snitch high with pride, to a thundering crowd of Quidditch fans…**_

Trying to keep his laughter to a limit of chuckles and sniggers, Scorpius threw the complimentary copy of _Witch Weekly_ onto the table, and sat back in his chair, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He had to give Rose her dues; she was great at spinning garbage fit for such a magazine such as this, _but_ _Good Godric, this is rubbish_ , he thought to himself, amused at what he had just read.

Finally getting over his sudden onset of the giggles, Scorpius downed the rest of his coffee, before rummaging into his pockets for a few sickles, which he left on the small table before picking up his _Witch Weekly_ copy, rolling it up, and leaving the café he had holed up in since early that afternoon.

Earlier in the day, Quincey had surprised Scorpius with the announcement that he could have a few days off. Of course, he could train if he wished to, but it was "of the utmost importance to take a break, and enjoy the simpler things in life", as Quincey put it. It might have been the success of the match that had Quincey all bubbly and delightful, but Scorpius was not going to argue with him – he had wanted to go to Diagon Alley for a while now, and this was a good opportunity to finally do just that. So, with this surprise break in mind, the up-and-coming Quidditch player skittered off, with a quick "thanks and bye!" for good measure.

At first, Scorpius hadn't known what to do with himself. Since coming back to England, training had dominated his every waking hour, meaning that time was a precious essence, almost as rare as unicorn sightings, centaur hugs and half-giant brothers.

Time that he really couldn't afford to lose, now that he had it to spare.

Eventually – after _uhming_ and _ahing_ to nothing in particular – he decided to visit one of the little café's in good ol' Diagon Alley first, so that he could read the trashy _Witch Weekly_ Quincey had given him, and because there were promises of a large pot of coffee on the menu. Coffee that rivalled his own beloved French Roast.

Now, he was just wondering about aimlessly, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans – hey, even he could pull off the muggle look, when he felt like it – with the rolled-up magazine wedged between his arm and torso. It was a pleasant day, and thankfully, Diagon Alley wasn't overly crowded, mostly because a chunk of the Wizarding world was either at work, or in Hogwarts.

Deciding to peruse the shelves of the Quidditch supplies shop – even on his day off, he couldn't stop thinking about the sport. Plus, he needed some new broom polish – Scorpius rounded the next corner, intent on doing some form of shopping for his beloved broomstick, when he saw the flash of unmistakable red hair just up ahead of him, disappearing into the doorway of Flourish and Blotts.

 _Well_ , he thought, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. _Looks like I've found a Weasley._

* * *

Rose had made the decision to head into Diagon Alley, for the sole purpose of purchasing a brand-new set of quills and various coloured ink wells. The possibility of buying a new book was also on the horizon – it always was – especially now that she had the time to go and buy such things for herself. After all, it was not every day she was given a few days off from her busy but dull life.

Plus, there had been a pile of Ministry applications and neatly inked letters from her mother, waiting on her coffee table until she opened them. It was so much easier to ignore the buggers when Rose wasn't anywhere near them.

So, there she was, in Diagon Alley, when the sky was nice and clear and barely anyone was about. It was rare for the streets to seem so empty, but she was thankful for it; it meant that there would be a lot less people accosting her, just to ask, "are you _the_ Rose Weasley?" or "isn't Harry Potter your uncle?" Of course, Rose loved her family, but it had become tedious after a while when people simply pestered you about your heritage, or gushed over how wonderful the entirety of your family was. If she was unlucky, they might sometimes click their tongues, and ask if she really did write for _Witch Weekly_ , before showing their disappointment when she answered, "Why, yes. Yes, I do."

 _As if you need to prove something to a bunch of strangers,_ Rose thought to herself bitterly, before pushing such thoughts away as she turned into the doorway for Flourish and Blotts. She had already purchased her quills and various inks from Amanuensis Quills without any interruptions, and now felt the need to visit every bookstore available, even if she didn't buy anything. It was quite comforting to be surrounded by books, no matter where she was.

Walking into the cramped interior of the shop, Rose was greeted with rows upon rows of shelves, stacked to the ceiling with tomes and scripts that would have any book lover dizzy with joy. Trying her best not to elicit a squeal of absolute joy – it had been _so_ long since Rose had last been in a bookstore - the young journalist walked towards the nearest promotions table, where a neat selection of featured releases sat, waiting to be read.

Reaching out for the latest edition of _History of Magic_ – how many of those things were plodding about, anyway? – Rose stopped, fingertips just grazing the leather cover as she spied the table farthest from her, shoved into a corner. On top of it, in neat little piles, were folded copies of _The Daily Prophet_ , with one sitting boldly on a stand. A few magazines were littered around the very same table, but it was the picture on the front of the popular news tabloid that had caught her eye. Before Rose thought much about it, she had already manoeuvred through the awkwardly angled tables and shelves, until she was holding up the paper, the image of one of her bloody cousins looking back at her, smiling roguishly and waving to whatever photographer had been taking the picture.

 _ **POTTER'S PRETTY POOR PREDICAMENT:  
STAR QUIDDITCH PLAYER TO LOSE POSITION WITH CHUDLEY CANNONS **_

_**James Potter – oldest child to Harry Potter and Ginevra Potter (nee Weasley) – has found himself in quite the predicament this week, after being fired from his position as Chaser for the infamous Chudley Cannons. After speaking with the teams Manger, Ferguson McKinley, The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that the former Chaser in question had violated the rules within his contract. In an undisclosed interview with the Prophet, McKinley is reported to have said:**_

" _ **After careful consideration and much discussion, it has been decided that Mr. James Potter will no longer be working as a part of the Chudley Cannons. It is with great regret that we must report this, however, for both the benefit of the team and Potter's own well-being, this is the decision we have made. We hope that fans of the Cannons understand, and will continue to support both the team and Mr. Potter, separately."**_

 _ **It is known within the Quidditch circuit that James Potter - one of the most well-known names and faces of the Wizarding World along with his siblings and many of his other family members – has found himself in various states of distaste throughout his career as a Chaser, and even during his time at Hogwarts. From underage drinking to petty quarrels with opposing teams, one can only guess what Potter has done this time to finally have his contract with the Cannons terminated, especially so early in the season leading up to the Quidditch League.**_

 _ **The Daily Prophet has contacted James Potter regarding his lack of position in the up-coming League, but have heard no comment back thus far.**_

Rolling her eyes, Rose dropped the newspaper back onto the table, and looked down at it with absolute distaste. She'd have to contact James at some point, just to make sure he was okay, but honestly, she was just furious with the _Prophet_ itself. The nerve their editors and writers had, thinking that they were above all the other trashy tabloids, when they were just as guilty for gossiping as _Witch Weekly_ was, if their latest headline was anything to go by.

For such a prestigious newspaper, they didn't seem to mind the act of hypocrisy.

"Bloody tossers," Rose muttered, glaring down at the paper and wondering just _why_ she was still sending application forms and articles to the _Prophet_ , in the hopes that they would hire her. Oh, yeah; professional writer, big dreams, all that bullshit. _Urgh_!

"Well, at least _your_ trash is entertaining to read," a familiar, low voice rumbled from behind her. "Personally speaking, _The Prophet_ reads as if the writer has a stick up their arse, for any given article."

Rose could feel the tips of her ears burning, the beginnings of her Weasley blush making its way to her face, but only because she had been surprised by someone standing behind her, reading over her shoulder (how rude!). Like any sane person, Rose was not a fan of being crept upon.

Turning, Rose made a point to look up, meeting those familiar, stormy grey eyes. "Well, you never did like the _Prophet_ , did you, Malfoy." She stood with her back straight, craning her neck slightly because, good Godric, the guy was tall. Hopefully, he would earn a small crick in his neck from having to look down, because Rose Granger-Weasley would _not_ be the only one suffering.

He was smiling a crooked smile, the ghost of a dimple – good Godric, a _dimple_ – on his cheek as his eyes swept over the contents of the table in front of her, before turning his piercing gaze to Rose, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans – _jeans?_ – surveying her with interest, as if she were one of the headlines on display.

 _His ass could be a headline in_ those _jeans_ , _I bet._

"Scorpius, if you will, _Rosie_."

Rose's ears burned, both because of the unsanitary thoughts running through her mind, and because he was using that stupid childhood nickname she had long dropped. Trying her best to school her features into mild disinterest – her poker face was, however, quite shit – she flickered her eyes back up to his – those jeans did look good on him – and returned his smile, a tad demurer than his, and minus a dimple.

"Fine, _Scorpius_ ," the name felt weird on her tongue, but, she liked it. It earned a grin from Scorpius, she noted, and had his eyes turned a tad darker? Perhaps the candles were flickering a bit too much in the cramped bookstore.

And that's when Rose Granger-Weasley spied the rolled-up magazine wedged between Scorpius' arm and torso, the glimpse of a sneaky little wink telling her all she needed to know about _which_ tabloid he had been holding onto.

"Buggering boggarts," she muttered, that all-too familiar warmth creeping up onto her cheeks, much to the amusement of the blonde prat in front of her. Quickly, she managed to find her voice, despite all the unnecessary twists her stomach seemed to be acquiring. "Never pegged you for a _Witch Weekly_ guy, Mal- Scorpius. Perhaps you were charmed by this week's poster boy?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Actually, I just thought I would peruse the _Amazing Abs_ section. Some stiff competition, between the Cannons' and mine." And then he winked, because _bloody hell_ , it seemed to be his mission to have Rose look like a glorified tomato.

 _Where in Godric's Hollow is a mad bludger, when you need one?_ She thought to herself, only getting redder the more she stood there, gaping at the cheeky twit that was turning her into a mess of frizzy, freckly redness. What in Slytherin's dingy little chamber was this man _doing_ to her?

Staring down at their feet, - oh, trainers. Scorpius Malfoy wore bloody _trainers_ on his off days – Rose felt the urge to play with the end of her plait, a habit she had never quite kicked since childhood, especially when nervous. Fiddling with the curling ends of her hair, doing her best to will the gorgeous specimen away from her line of sight, Scorpius finally – _finally_ – broke the awkward that had permeated between them, and chuckled.

"I'm going to get a drink," his feet turned, the black and white trainers shifting slightly, indicating the impending departure. "Would you care to join me?" And, as if her brain was finally back in full-working order, Rose lifted her head, glimpsing the back of Scorpius Malfoy, magazine still in hand, as he made his zig-zagged his way through the cluttered tables of Flourish and Blotts.

 _Yup_. Rose surmised, her interest flickering down before quickly moving her gaze upwards, to the back of Scorpius' head. _Headliner ass, confirmed._


End file.
